


Pretty Girl

by Belle86



Series: "Girl" 'Verse [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Kink Negotiation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Pre-Canon, Spanking, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle86/pseuds/Belle86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She calls him ‘sir’.</p><p>He calls her ‘pretty girl’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've already booked my ticket to Hell, here's me getting my card punched toward an upgrade to First Class.

She calls him _sir_.

He calls her _pretty girl_.

Not in the beginning, though. She’s always just _girl_ in the beginning.

 _Girl_ , hissed in her face and growled into her ear. Just _girl_ until she’s earned the privilege of having him call her _pretty_ , of having him pay her a compliment.

She earns it with her arms strung up above her head in the buttery leather cuffs he’d had made just for her, hooked over a support beam in the ceiling of his quarters with a length of chain stolen from the supply warehouse. The chain is long, the two sides of its length clipped in place with a carabiner, and easily adjusted for anything he’d want to do to her.

Earns it with every stinging blow his palm strikes across her ass, keeping her balance on the balls of her feet while her toes grip uselessly at the cold concrete floor beneath her as she tries in vain to twist away.

Earns it on her knees with his cock stuffed down her throat. 

Fights her body’s every instinct to retch and choke and pull back to try and force his thick length back up and out of her esophagus. Saliva, pre-come, and her own thick mucus burble up out from her mouth to run down her neck and chin and drip onto her chest. His strong, broad hand on the back of her head holds her in place while her chest and stomach heave for air.

He won’t keep her there longer than she can take. This, she knows. He knows she loves the fight, the strains of panic she beats back with sheer force of will, the darkness and light pricking behind her eyelids as her oxygen runs out and out...

The evidence of her work trails from her lips to the reddened tip of his cock in pearly strings each time she pulls off - each time he _lets her off_ \- to breathe. 

To gulp in a breath and thank him again - _thank you, sir_ \- before she’s pushed back down on his thick length once more. Until he decides she’s had enough.

She earns it with the stretch of her asshole.

Crammed tight with thick, blunt fingers at first - one to open her up, two to stretch her, then, finally, three and four to make her just loose enough. When he lifts her leg against his chest, leaving her to balance on the other leg and the wrists above her head, he pushes in to the hilt in one go.

He’s slicked himself up enough over the condom that she can hardly tell that he’s wearing one at all. When he begins to pound away at her tight, puckered hole like it’s a cunt, every harsh puff of air he forces from her mouth comes out in the shape of _thank you, sir_.

He is _sir_ from the beginning. Always has been.

Has been since the night she’d finally mustered up the courage to pay a visit to the city’s most exclusive kink club while she’d been stationed in Sydney for a year, working with Striker’s engineering team. 

Cell phones or any device capable of taking pictures or video were banned from the premises: checked at the door with jamming devices on the roof just in case someone snuck something in.

A little under an hour of creeping through the club on her own, someone had caught her eye; tall, strong build, broad-shouldered with a classically handsome face that looked like something out of a black-and-white American war film.

Ten minutes into that conversation, a warm hand settled on her elbow and she turned to find the person she’d been hoping to find a replica of, in a place where someone would be more receptive to playing along with her. “Sorry, mate, this one’s spoken for.”

She'd know that voice anywhere.

Six months she’d been stationed in Sydney. In that time, she’d come to envy and resent Chuck Hansen for many things - not the least of which was being pinned to the mat in the Kwoon by his father on a regular basis. Mako’s focus on piloting and the Jaeger program was unwavering, except…

Except in the dead of night when she laid in her bunk and mentally offered up Gipsy Danger to whatever god would take that deal in exchange for allowing her to taste Hercules Hansen’s lips on hers, to feel his hands pin her wrists above her head and drive every thought from her mind save for his name.

“She’s talking to me, guy, piss off.”

“This one likes to do the bloody hokey-pokey with boundaries that have already been set for her. So why don’t you run along and let her Daddy deal with this, hmm?”

She should have been ashamed at the pulse of heat that went through her when Herc called himself her ‘Daddy’, even though it was just for show. An image of him bending her over the bar and spanking her ass raw in front of everyone in the club flashed through her mind.

Why was he even here? No one knew where she was going tonight. There was no way someone would have followed her from the ‘Dome, she’d made sure of it.

The other man finally rolled his eyes, giving in, and walked away. Herc pulled her to a quiet corner of the bar and sat them both down. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” she said.

He stayed quiet. Waited for her to spill first.

“If anything,” she said, “it’s more dangerous for you to be here than me. You’re much more recognizable, you know.”

He’d laughed. Almost. “Look around, sweetheart, you and I aren’t at the top of the list of people here who shouldn’t be seen in a bloody kink club.”

He was right. Politicians, movie stars, prominent figures from across Australia and most of the world stood out from the crowd, if you were looking. No wonder this place was so hard to get into.

“You haven’t been to one of these before, have you?” He asked.

Mako shook her head.

He trailed calloused fingertips trailed her arm, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t think you’re doing anything tonight. With anyone.”

“Don’t tell me what I--”

“I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do. I’m telling you that I’ve known you for some time, Miss Mori, and you aren’t one to jump into anything uninformed, even a little.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, wanting to argue but, he was right. She hadn’t really come tonight to participate, just reassure herself that she wasn’t sick in the head for the things she thought of at night. But, here he was, right in front of her. In the same place, for the same reason, most likely wanting the same things.

Funny, how things worked out sometimes.

“You’ve never been here before. You’re new to all of this,” his gaze flicked around the room, “just watch tonight.” 

His fingers settled in a loose grip around her wrist, strong enough to emphasize that he was making a point, but definitely not something she couldn’t just walk away from if she wanted. “Don’t go to a room with someone. Stay in the crowd. It’s hard to tell who’s in the lifestyle and who’s just an opportunistic bastard on your first night.”

She turned her hand and threaded her fingers through his. 

Maybe her next thought made her the opportunistic bastard in this situation, but she voiced it anyhow, “maybe you could stay with me? Make sure no one… takes advantage of me?”

She’d never batted her eyelashes so much in her life. “Sir?”

Now, she whimpers as he pushes into her so deep she can taste it. 

Her ass is burning from the stern spanking he’d given her - _How many times do I have to tell you to be focused on your bloody work and not giving me sex eyes across the jaeger bay?_ \- the fullness of his thick cock inside of her is almost unbearable as he hammers his hips into hers, and his free hand rubs furiously at her clit, bringing her to the edge over and over, never allowing her the release she desperately craves. 

She’s close, she’s so, so close, if she keeps quiet he won’t know if she comes, right? He won’t feel her pussy tighten up, she can get away with it, just once, just this once she needs--

His fingers leave her clit and he goes still behind her, his dick only half-inside. She lets out a loud, frustrated, petulant-sounding whine and thrashes against her restraints, trying to buck herself back down his length.

“...come...want, _Iwannacome_ ,” the words spill out on top of one another, her voice is rough, breathy, wrecked.

His hand grips her throat like a vice, allowing just enough air through for her to breathe while strong fingers press into the sides. The pressure quickly builds in her skull as the blood beats behind her eyes.

“Are you asking me for something, girl?" The gravel of his voice sends a spike of heat straight through her. "Think I don’t know what you were doing just now? Going to come without my permission, weren’t you?”

She stays silent. She isn’t supposed to demand, only accept and be thankful.

“Such simple bloody rules I set for you, and you can’t follow them. And now look at you, whining and wiggling around like a bitch in heat, such a fucking _disgrace_.”

On his last word, he drives back into her hard, burying his cock deep and twisting his hips, wrenching an inhuman howl out of her lungs.

She thinks it’s supposed to be punitive, but the further stretch of her hole and the pain of the hard, sharp pressure of him fucking rearranging her insides with his cock border on exquisite.

If she died, right this instant, and that was the last thing she ever felt, she’d probably be alright with it.

He slips out of her and she misses him instantly, empty and hollow without his cock filling her ass. 

Herc turns her around to face him, holding her still by her face with one big hand, considering her while he peels the condom off and flings it to the floor in front of her. “Apparently I need to find a way to make these things stick in that slutty little mind of yours. Do you even have thoughts during the day that aren’t about getting a load of spunk dumped into you? Of course you don’t, that was a stupid question.”

Shaking his head, he lets her go with a slight push and crosses the room to where she can’t see.

The rustling of fabric and metal comes from behind her. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, she knows what’s coming. 

He comes back to her with his worn leather belt in one hand, folded into a loop; in the other, a black wand vibrator that she knows can bring her to orgasm in under a minute. Through a pair of cotton panties.

“How many with this?” He holds up the belt.

“Five, sir.”

“And how long with this?” He holds up the vibrator.

She doesn’t say anything, her eyes locked on the object as she gnaws her bottom lip. That vibrator is going to turn her into a strung-out, desperate, quivering mess. And she’s already a strung-out, desperate, quivering mess, so she stares at the thing, equal parts terrified and exhilarated at the idea of how much farther she can sink.

“How long with this?” He repeats.

When she doesn’t answer again, he steps in close, towering over her, filling the space in front of her completely.

He drags the belt up her thigh, stopping to press it against her sex. “If I have to ask you again,” he brings the belt further up her torso to her breasts, “I will use this everywhere but your arse.”

Her breath leaves her for a moment, “for as long as you say, sir.”

“That’s right.”

He steps back a little bit and presses the wand to her cunt, aching and swollen and dripping wet. Works it back and forth through her folds, collecting her own slick over the rounded bulb.

It clicks on and it’s like touching a live wire; her body goes rigid, her breath caught in her throat.

The air is forced out of her when the belt lands, hard and burning sharp, one strike high on each buttock in quick succession. Her "thank you, sir" follows quickly.

“Bet you want to come, don’t you, girl?”

She nods, her mouth hanging open.

He grinds the vibrator around in a circle against her as she squirms and shudders. 

“Too bad.”

Two more strikes, just below where the last ones hit.

Her breaths are ragged, her shoulders hunched as much as she can manage with her hands chained up above her. She looks up at him with pleading eyes. He just raises an eyebrow at her. 

"Thank you, sir." She has one left to go.

He lets the belt out a bit, lengthening the loop. She takes a shaking breath as she nods.

The fifth blow lands, stinging hot across both buttocks, and the belt clatters on the floor. She breaths out a weak "thank you, sir" as he brings his now free hand up to cup her face and steps in close. “That’s it, now,” his voice is almost soft.

Every muscle in her body is tense, every nerve aflame, every cell consumed with the effort of fighting back the orgasm he hasn’t allowed her to have yet. It’s right there, crackling under her skin, filling her every sense with burning, furious, aching _need_.

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to her lips, their first this evening. She knows he can feel how her jaw trembles against his fingertips as she purses her lips to return the kiss.

“Come for me, pretty girl.”

A sob wrenches out from her throat, followed by another, followed by loud, heaving pants of relief and release and pleasure and pain. The dam breaks and her orgasm finally washes over her, ripping its way through her gut.

He grins as he watches her and holds the vibrator steady as she rides it, chasing the too-intense pleasure coursing through her; twisting and writhing, black hair sticking to her sweat-drenched face as her head turns feverishly in every direction.

Cries of pleasure, of pain, English, Japanese, every profanity in every language she’d picked up in every Shatterdome she’d lived in for the past decade overflow from within her in an endless stream of sound.

She lifts one leg and grinds her cunt onto the wand, not caring about the strain on the already-aching muscles in her other leg. Herc holds her steady with a hand on her hip, watching her intently in her abandon.

She rides it through two distinct, powerful orgasms and countless aftershocks. When she lifts her head to meet his eyes again, smiling softly, her breath heaving, he doesn’t take it away.

When her hips twitch to pull away from the overstimulation, he doesn’t take it away.

Another climax builds and her groans turn to whines and whimpers. She shakes her head as she pants. “I can’t, can’t, Herc, please, I can’t…”

“Shhh,” he takes hold of her hair at the base of her skull, gripping it firmly, tilting her face up to look at him, steady, “yes you can.”

“No, no, I--”

He leans in close, their lips nearly touching, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I thought you wanted to be my pretty girl?”

She whimpers, every muscle in her body on a razor’s edge.

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another impossibly long moment passes, only the loud buzz of the vibrator echoing in her ears.

“What do you say?”

“I w-want to be your pretty girl, sir.”

"Then prove it."

His lips slide over hers and she screams into his mouth as it hits her, white-hot and sharp, sharp like nothing she’s ever felt and something inside her shatters apart.

She is full, she is empty, she is aching, she’s in ecstasy, her mind empty of everything she’s ever known but burning pleasure, and searing pain--

And him.

She is his.

She is his and that is all she knows, all she wants to know as the world turns to white noise around her and her strength leaves her with a groan. Her knees buckle, her legs give out and she begins to fall.

He catches her before she does. Wraps strong arms around her and holds her to his chest. Her wrists are freed and he lifts her in a bridal carry to the bed, switching the harsh overhead lights off on the way, leaving just the soft bedside light for illumination.

Life in a Shatterdome doesn’t allow much for space, even for a senior Ranger, and having a separate room for aftercare like in the lifestyle clubs wasn’t really an option. Still, Herc had made the best of things: a double bed normally reserved for family quarters and officers, with extra pillows and soft, plush blankets. A mini fridge close by stocked with water, juice and cold packs to ice down wherever she’s been hit throughout the night.

Herc had made it a point to impress upon her the importance of aftercare, and how vital it was for it to be discussed in as much detail as the play itself. “If someone has fifteen ways they want to hurt you and not one to make you feel better afterward, then all they want to do is hurt you,” he'd told her.

He lays her down in the bunk, on her side to spare her abused ass, takes a juice box liberated from the mess out of the fridge, pops the straw in and climbs in after her, slotting in close. Holds the straw out to her and props her up so she can drink.

Under any other circumstances, she’d object to being hand-fed a juice box, but her arms are useless from being up above her head for so long, and in the haze of endorphins and fading adrenaline, she is more than happy to let him take care of her.

So she drinks it down greedily, her throat hoarse from screaming, raw and sore from being choked on his cock; the liquid is wonderfully cold and soothing, she makes a small, high-pitched noise and her eyes slip closed as she takes the last few pulls.

He plucks the empty box from her fingers and drops it back on the small table before settling them deeper into the bed, bringing their faces close.

She knows how this goes, the ritual of it almost as comforting as the act itself. Kisses, soft and wet and almost constant, like their mouths are trying to make up the lost time of the rest of the evening when their lips didn’t meet.

He’s still hard, cock flushed a dark, angry red, sticking into her hip. But they’ll take care of that. This isn’t all just for her, after all.

Besides, that was what they’d talked about, what he wanted for tonight. Wanted his own release to be separate from their play, close and intimate.

Sometimes it’s part of the play, another layer of control he’ll hold over her, allowing himself release, but not her until he says so.

Sometimes she takes his come in her mouth, savoring it on her palate like a fine wine before gulping the thick load down her throat, always opening her mouth wide after to show him so that he’ll give her her reward.

Sometimes she takes it on her body, on her face and tits, on her back and ass; the hot, ropey white clinging to her skin like a molten brand.

Then there are times like tonight, when he wants there to be nothing else but them, just for a moment. No toys, no cuffs, no games. The world they live in, a distant thought; the adrenaline in their veins draining away to nothing to leave them both raw and exposed to one another.

When he wants to watch her expression as he sinks into her, hitch her leg up over his hip and cradle her close while he thrusts, one leg braced over her other one to leverage himself up.

The featherlight touch of his thumb on her clit makes her tremble and she whimpers against the gentle press of his tongue. He presses their foreheads together as the bed creaks beneath them and speaks softly to her, his voice warm with affection; he’s so proud of her, she did so well, _...so good for me, pretty girl..._

God, how she lives for those words. Not just when she’s had to earn them but all the time. She doesn’t fully understand it, if almost anyone else in the world called her that, they’d be dredging the Pacific for their teeth. But from him, they fulfilled her, sustained her, made her feel at home. When he called her that outside of this room she never knew whether she wanted to climb into his lap and nuzzle into his chest like a kitten, or drop to her knees and suck his dick. Usually both.

She manages one final orgasm, quiet, rolling though her like thunder in the distance. He coaxes her through it with encouraging whispers and soft kisses as she shudders.

Close himself, he offers to slip out and come on her belly, make her clean-up easier. She shakes her head, wants to belong to him a little while longer.

He tightens his around her, pumps two, three more times into her tight channel. She flattens her palms against his chest to feel the way his heart jackhammers against his ribs as he comes, his cock spilling pulses of thick, wet heat deep inside her.

The only sound in the room is their breathing, hard and uneven, hot and damp in the shared space between their flushed faces.

It’s in these moments, the moments when the world feels far away and black and white, but here in this bed is vibrant, screaming color; it’s these moments when she’s almost overwhelmed with how much she loves him. How badly she wants to tell him. To write the words on his chest with her fingertip, whisper them in his ear, murmur them against his lips.

She doesn’t, though. She won’t burden him with that. Not when every sound of the kaiju alarm means he may not come back. He doesn’t need the added guilt of leaving her behind.

So she kisses him instead, hopes he can taste it on her lips. Hopes the beat of her heart will spell it out to him in Morse code.

Soon they’ll get back up to shower and use the facilities before bed. Herc always laments at not having a tub for nights when he works her over more roughly, but they make do there, as well. 

He’ll sit her up on the bench that Ranger quarters showers are equipped with to avoid accidents after a long deployment and kneel before her like a footman, with the soft sea sponge and sweet peppermint body wash that she likes rather than the issue soap. He keeps both items in their own basket in the small storage closet, along with a plush, oversized towel, just for her, just for this.

He’ll wash her quickly and efficiently, but gently still, rubbing and massaging where she needs it, checking knees and wrists and bruises as he goes. If they want to talk over the scene while he does, that’s fine. If they don’t want to talk at all, that’s fine, too.

When he’s finished and given himself a quick rinse as well, he’ll bundle her up and bring her back to the bunk. Carries her, whether her legs are too weak to walk or not.

Then she’ll fall asleep to the steady metronome of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, before she wakes up in the morning to a new day of hiding. Hiding what they are to each other, hiding that she was anywhere near his quarters the night before and not in her own, hiding any evidence of their lovemaking.

But that’s all tomorrow. She can have this, now.

He rubs circles onto her back with a broad, calloused palm. “Wanna go get cleaned up, pretty girl?”

She nuzzles in closer at the name and smiles against his chest. “In a minute.”

For another minute, for tonight. She can have this. She can have him.


End file.
